The Red Room
by Rule23
Summary: Gibbs and DiNozzo explore their relationship whilst on the trail of a psychopathic serial killer.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

I've hidden her away; she's broken. An abomination. Me, I'm clean, I'm not like her- I'm not filth. I mean, how dare she? Doesn't she know it's wrong, didn't her mother teach her? She has to be hidden from innocent eyes; only _I _can see her now. It's up to _me_ to show her. Show her how wrong she is, show her that I would never sink so low; it's unnatural, inhuman and should – no _needs_ to – be stopped.

I go to her every day. Without fail. Down the concrete steps to my basement, my special room, the White Room. She'll be sitting there, crumpled in the tiled corner, the artificial light flickering across her pale face. An ethereal face. She starts as the door snaps closed behind me, the lock clicking into place; her large blue eyes pleading with me, frightened. Her voice is hoarse from disuse, "Why are you doing this?" As if she doesn't know. As if she doesn't understand why her mouth disgusts me, why her hands disgust me, why her body disgusts me.

My fingers claw at her silken hair, viciously tugging as tears bleed from her eyes leaving crystal rivulets coursing down her cheeks. She's hurting, she deserves this. My hand trails down her face, lingers behind the soft shell of her ear before skimming slowly down her swan-like neck. I freeze. This is wrong, she's tricked me again. Punish her. There's a resounding crack as my hand hits her face; my painted fingernails gouging deep trenches across her alabaster cheeks, her filthy, scarlet blood leaking from the wound.

I'm cleansing her. I only want what's best for her.

Her breathing is harsh now, chest heaving, breasts straining against the thin material of her shirt. She looks scared but I know better: she's trying to tempt me, she wants me to sink to her level. Her hands are chained to the clean wall above her head, she can't escape. She can't taint me. She'll never taint me. Again, "Why are you doing this?" And now, "Why me?" Over, over and over she asks, always questioning me; she doesn't respect me. She needs to be taught. I silence her with my mouth, hard as steel. She writhes against me, the filthy whore, screaming as my teeth clasp around the soft flesh of her lower lip, biting harder and harder.

I jerk back suddenly; her blood is burning my lips, poisoning them. By now her eyes are normally dull and vacant, broken, just an empty shell; not today. Her piercing blue eyes shine with defiance and I watch as they suddenly fill with understanding. "You want me, that's why I'm here, isn't it?" Her crimson mouth curves into a dangerous smile as I reel back in shock. I could never want her. Never wish for her hands gliding over my breasts, never want to kiss my way down her stomach. Never. "You want to touch me, hold me. You want me to hold you." The vile little bitch, I could never enjoy holding her feline form. I slap her again, harder than before, but she's still talking, spouting nonsense – I do not want her. Do I? NO! I shake my head violently, in a vain attempt to rid myself of the delectable...no...of the disgustingly vulgar images she has forced into my mind.

My back hits the cool, sterile tiles as I try to escape the unholy curses falling from her lips; "Touch me, I know you want to." Soon I can't hear her taunts above the pounding of my heart, over the pulsing of blood in my ears. I'm good, I'm clean, I'm normal. I'll be welcome in Heaven. I don't want her, I can't want her, I couldn't want something so wrong. I reach for the bottle I keep in the cabinet by the door, out of her reach, and pour the burning liquid down my throat. It dulls the thumping of my heart and helps to drown out her screeching; my mind is slowly engulfed by the soothing effect of the bourbon.

And suddenly everything's clear.

She has to go.

I carefully unshackle her wrists, the metal congealed with the patches of skin that had been rubbed raw. Confusion is written all over her face, "What are you doing? Are you letting me go?" She has to go. I help her to shaking feet, her legs – thin and pale – are barely able to support her. She lifts her eyes to lock with mine, "Thank you, thank you so much." The tears are streaming down her face again as I help her take a step towards the door; she takes the next step by herself, and another until her back is facing me. I don't even have to think as I bring the heavy bourbon bottle down, crashing into her skull.

I watch the blood oozing from her hair onto the white, tiled floor and spreading into a large, crimson pool. It's not enough. I drop to my knees and hit her over and over; when the bottle shatters I use my fists, pounding her until I can no longer raise them above my head. She hadn't struggled; she hadn't the chance as I watched the light leave her lovely blue eyes. My hands are slick with her blood, her life. Around me, the once white walls and floor are shining scarlet and her body lies broken at my feet.

She had to go.

I'm in the Red Room. Again.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If Gibbs was mine I wouldn't spend my time sat here writing this.

Chapter Two

Is there such a thing as silence? The soft hum of computers. The gentle drip from the scuttlebutt. The ticking of the clocks on the wall behind him. It's 2300 and his team had left the Bullpen hours ago. It hadn't been a good day. They'd caught a kidnapping case, a blond little girl, seven years old. They were too slow, had to watch from a distance as the dirtbag slit her throat before they could open fire on him. He was delivered to Autopsy riddled with bullet holes. It wasn't enough. The girl's parents would never get over it. They would lay awake at night torturing themselves with 'what if's and 'if only's. He still lay awake at night.

He didn't know how long he'd been sat there, just staring into the middle distance. Remembering. He stood, knees creaking, deciding it was time to call it a day – time to return to what was once his home. It's just a house now, an empty, lonely house. He left on autopilot and let his mind wander, wander to the case, wander to his girls. It would be twenty years next week.

Gibbs woke to the blaring of his cell phone and fell off the boat as he scrambled to answer the damn thing. He squinted to check the caller ID. _DiNozzo_.

"Yeah. Gibbs."

"Hey, Boss. We caught a case. Dead Petty Officer found just off base at Little Creek." He sounded like he'd just woken up, all slow and groggy. Not surprising, it was only 0530.

"I'll meet ya there." He hung up before DiNozzo could say anything else and downed the cold cup of coffee he'd left on the saw horse as he made his way up from the basement.

Gibbs walked into the wooded area, coffee in hand, and stopped short at the sight of the body of Petty Officer Catherine Jobson. The word 'Filth' had been carved into her back, the deep red vivid against her milky skin. The scene looked familiar to him but he couldn't place it.

"Ouch!" DiNozzo tripping over a rotting log brought him back to himself.

"Magee, bag and tag. Ziver, photos. DiNozzo I want you – "

" - sketches and a perimeter. On it boss." Even though he knew it was important his team learnt to anticipate, sometimes Gibbs would like to actually finish a sentence.

He looked to the base patrol man to find out who found the body and was directed to a couple of scared-looking teenagers. They had nothing useful to impart and were obviously just unlucky enough to stumble across the scene whilst sneaking back home. He had the patrol man contact their parents so they could be picked up. He seriously doubted they would ever sneak out again.

When he got back to the clearing Ducky was bent over the body with Palmer stood awkwardly beside him. DiNozzo was staring curiously at the neatly folded pile of clothes beside the victim.

"Duck, you got a time of death for me?" Straight to the point as ever.

"As a matter of fact I do, Jethro. Judging from decomposition and lividity I would estimate that she has been dead no more than three or four days, I'll be able to give you a more exact time once I get her back to Autopsy." Gibbs opened his mouth to speak but Ducky got there first. "And before you ask, Jethro, I would say probable cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head." Gibbs had to agree, if it wasn't for the fact that it was attached to her body, her head would be nearly unrecognisable as such.

"Was she killed here, Duck?"

Ducky took in his surroundings for the first time since arriving. "I think not, Jethro; there's not nearly enough blood and, if you look, you can see that her blood has settled in at least two places. No, this young lady had definitely been moved."

Gibbs looked carefully at her back. "What can you tell me about the word carved on her back?"

"Nothing as of yet, but be patient and all shall be revealed."

DiNozzo was still staring at the pile of what he assumed were the Petty Officer's personal effects. "Is it just me boss or does this feel rather familiar? Something seems kinda hinky."

Privately Gibbs had to agree with his Senior Field Agent.

"I think I've got something over here, boss." McGee was examining a partial foot print he'd found amongst some underbrush. "Could be the killer's."

DiNozzo was the first to reach him and peered of McGee's head at the print. "Looks to be female, say size seven and a half." He paused before going on to say "What have I told you about leaves of three, McRashes?" McGee scrambled to his feet, retreating from the poisonous leaves. How could he still be unable to recognise them? He needed to be more careful.

"You knew there was poison ivy here, didn't you Tony?" DiNozzo just grinned brightly until he felt a hard hand connect with the back of head.

"Right. On it, boss."


End file.
